


All The Right Friends

by ThorneofAcre



Series: The (Mis)Adventures of the Musketeers [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThorneofAcre/pseuds/ThorneofAcre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of 'Commodities', Athos reflects on what d'Artagnan means to him. (not slash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Right Friends

“I don’t… exactly see…. the purpose behind this exercise.” D’Artagnan had to shout to be heard over the pounding of the rain and his own blood in his ears as he jogged behind the trotting horse.

“If you can still talk, we aren’t doing this right,” Aramis turned to flash him a grin before urging his horse to go faster. D’Artagnan swore profusely under his breath and jogged a little faster to keep up.

D’Artagnan had had the pleasure of being woken up at dawn by a far too cheerful Aramis to ‘go for a run, feel the morning air, it really is quite exhilarating.’

What he had not been told was that he was the only one who would be running. Aramis was happily riding on his horse, urging it faster and faster until it was at a steady gallop with d’Artagnan struggling to keep up.

Two miles in and it had started raining. D’Artagnan was sure this was payback. For… something. He couldn’t remember when he had done something so drastic to Aramis to warrant this kind of punishment. It wasn’t his fault the lady at the bar last night had seemed more interested in him than the musketeer despite the ‘Aramis charm’ being on at full blast. D’Artagnan grinned at the memory. 

They went on in silence for another twenty minutes, d’Artagnan focusing on taking deep breaths and being careful on where to put his feet on the wet forest terrain. They were on a rarely used path, and d’Artagnan wondered how much further they were going to go. He was about to ask when he spied a small cottage in a small clearing a little further ahead.

“Ah! Here we are,” Aramis said, turning around to make sure he hadn’t fallen behind. Or died. “C’mon now, it’s just a short distance more.”

D’Artagnan merely grunted, too out of breathe to be any more eloquent than that and kept up. They reached the cottage a few minutes later, and d’Artagnan was surprised to see three horses tied outside, and a light shining through the windows. “Are we meeting someone?” he asked Aramis who had gotten down from his horse and was tying it alongside the other three.

“Yes,” Aramis said, “Now get in before you get entirely wet.”

“I think…” d’Artagnan said, his teeth chattering, “it is a little late for that.”

Aramis said nothing but grasped his elbow and procuring a key from his coat opened the door and led him inside.

“Who lives…?” the question died on d’Artagnan’s tongue on finding Athos and Porthos seated comfortably near the inviting fire which was burning merrily in the fireplace. It wasn’t a large cottage, a single room with a table, four chairs, and a settee. But it was not wet, there wasn’t any chilling wind and there was a fire. D’Artagnan would have thought he was in heaven if not for his confusion at finding the other two musketeers there.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, suppressing a shiver.

Athos stood up and came to help him ojut of his wet clinging clothes. “There are dry clothes over there,” he said pointing to a corner where d’Artagnan could make out a bag. “Get changed. Breakfast is ready.”

D’Artagnan shook his head but went without any further argument, the promise of dry clothing overriding any need for getting some sort of explanation to what possible objective his three friends had for bringing him here.

Aramis too was getting rid of his wet cloak and placing it near the fire to dry off when Athos joined him. “So how did he do?” he asked quietly.

“Not too bad.” Aramis replied. “He kept up throughout, did not complain more than once and as you can see no injuries or mishaps occurred.”

“That is more than I can say for the two of you.” Athos reminded him, grinning. The run through the rain was a common training exercise for those in the regiment who were deemed worthy of being trained to become musketeers; supposedly encouraging perseverance in the face of danger and building up stamina.

Athos remembered when the three of them were led through miles of forest by an older musketeer, Francis Isaac, along with several other men. The difference had been that he had left them in the middle of the forest halfway through and galloped away. They had had to find their own way back, cold, wet, exhausted and hungry. Some of the men had wandered off hoping to find a trail and had gotten lost, not being heard from for several days. The three of them, Athos, Porthos and Aramis had remained together, Athos acting as an impromptu leader and they had made their way back without a lot of trouble. Later they had learned that several of the men had gotten attacked by bandits and had been killed.

Athos had decided that they did not need such extreme methods to teach their young friend about perseverance. The stubborn lad had enough determination to follow through with a hastily thrown plan of joining a renegade servant to stop him from blowing up the palace, and had gotten out of it relatively unscathed; though Athos had had a minor aneurism when he had told them how close he had come to getting blown to smithereens.

No, such harsh methods were not necessary. But the run itself could not be faulted with; it was a solid exercise. Thus he had acquired this small cottage in the middle of the forest, for a few days and he and Porthos had gotten up early to get here before the other two with clothes and breakfast.

D’Artagnan joined them near the fire and Porthos vacated the seat nearest to it for the young man who took it with a grateful nod. “So I take it that this was the dreaded run that the other guards were talking about?” he asked perceptively.

Athos nodded handing him a bowl of hot soup.

“Then aren’t you supposed to let me get lost in the middle of the forest and leave me to find my way back?” he asked, taking a sip of the delicious soup. It had been cooked by Porthos, no doubt. Out off all three, he was the one with the best culinary skills, a fact that though he was teased about mercilessly, he still took pride in.

“Feel free to go out and get lost to your heart’s content,” Porthos suggested smirking.

He and Aramis shared a grin before the latter explained, “Traditionally yes we are supposed to do that. It’s supposed to help build up your survival skills and all that.”

“But?” d’Artagnan prompted.

“But you looked too much like a drowned puppy and we have a heart.” Aramis continued, smirking.

Athos chuckled. “Besides with luck like yours we figured you wouldn’t die even when an enemy pointed a musket at your face and fired, so what the hell…” he gestured towards the room, “might as well throw in a breakfast and a change of clothes and call it a day.”

D’Artagnan looked at the three of them sitting around the fire and smiled. It definitely paid to be on a first name basis with the same men who were responsible for training him. Friends in high places and all that.


End file.
